Holmes came back with a parcel of things from Scotland Yard and set it aside upon my desk, before joining me for lunch.
I asked him if he was entirely recovered from last night's activities yet.
He smiled, and reached to kiss me. "Do you anticipate prolonging the illness?"
"Only if you don't object." I caressed his leg with my foot under the table.
He laughed, then cautioned quietly, "Later."
"I know, not while the servants are up. I have had an illicit affair before, Holmes," I reminded him, "and hid it well enough to not have a dishonourable discharge!"
He was nonchalant. "Ah yes, Murray. I have some recollection of your mentioning that name last night."
"Some!" I could not help being irked. "I wish that I had not mentioned him at all, for I had no idea you'd tell it to the next person you met."
"Oh, Watson! Are you still annoyed about that?"
"You could at least assure me that you won't be so thoughtless about my private life in the future."
"Oh, very well," he shrugged, then quirked an eyebrow upward. "Really, I should have thought you'd object more to my disclosing a recent affair, rather than an old one."
"You did hint at us, too."
"Obliquely."
I reached for his hand. "Well, don't hint at either affair, without my consent." Then I smiled. "You know, if we include that time in the closet, our affair is older than mine with Murray."
"Oh?" he said. "In that case, you have been wilfully cheating on me for years. Shame on you! I suggest you make it up to me tonight."
"I will," I assured him.
I am pleased to say that my ardent look made him blush.
We finished our lunch, and I had a peek inside the parcel.
"Watson!" he chastised. "Those are not your things to rummage through."
"I'm checking that you got the real ring, not just your facsimile."
"I checked that myself," he answered. "This was the ring found at the murder scene. There was not another one on Hope, so he may have buried it already."
"Oh." I remembered Miss Cooper's anxieties about why Hope had stayed away the morning of Stangerson's murder. "Well, let her bury the real one, then," I shrugged.
"Ahem, hadn't you better leave the parcel alone, then?"
I confessed that I actually wanted a glimpse into the locket she'd mentioned.
He tsked at me. "You might be patient and ask when the owner is around."
I glanced inside anyway and saw the faded image of Lucy Ferrier née Cooper, who sadly never became Hope. The lovely maiden did indeed greatly resemble the young creature we had met today, and I was amazed once more by the transformation I had witnessed.
Holmes seemed to read my thoughts in my face, and he remarked as I restored the locket to the parcel, "In my work, I occasionally don disguises myself, Watson, but it seems that I could take lessons from Cooper in the art of deception. Although," he cleared his throat quickly, "I don't think I shall follow our young friend's example in all matters."
I took his meaning and returned to his side, kissing him. "I love you as you are."
He smiled briefly, before resuming his stern demeanour. "Later," he said, and I returned to my desk with studied indifference.
I do not think I went too far by using the word "love" so soon between us, for he seemed unfazed by it and understood it to mean both our friendly affection as well as our perverse intimacy in his bed. I think he has enjoyed this transition we have made from teasing friends to wicked lovers, and only seeks to recover his usual composure again.
Holmes may be the most extraordinary man I have ever desired, let alone had, and he seems flattered to know it, since he saw already how picky I am about men when we visited the molly houses together. I know that some sodomites enjoy effeminacy in themselves or their partners, but I have personally found it only mildly arousing at best. It still confounds me to imagine a virile man like Jefferson Hope engaging in a relationship with a person of complicated sex, but men are all different, I suppose.
We expect Cooper's return anytime now, and I vaguely wonder how she will be dressed.
Still the male garments, though when she caught my look, she said to me that I could call her Rose, instead of Miss Cooper.
Anyhow, she looked in better control of herself now than this morning, and was grateful to have Hope's last few belongings as keepsakes of him. I also told her briefly about the duplicate rings, and she was cheered to think that Hope's last errand had delayed him rather than any hesitation about their affair.
She then asked me about Holmes's earlier remark that I would edit and publish her Mormon manuscript, and I explained that I was putting together my own account of the case. "It's probably better in your hands," she said, lamenting that she herself would have no chance at publishing such a project. "I wish you luck, Doctor, and look forward to having the public know Jefferson's noble motives."
Holmes mentioned to Rose our ideas about a change in her profession or her country of residence. She replied that she wished to simply mourn Hope at present, and I apologised for any presumption on our part, to interfere in her life.
"No, that's all right, Doctor. It's only your kindness." Rose's smile was so soft and feminine at that moment, that I wondered more than ever how she daily managed to fool her colleagues in the press that she was a man. Her body might technically classify her so, but her spirit did not.
Holmes asked Rose how she had become so adept at disguise, and if she had ever genuinely used her skills in an investigation, for such a talent would be invaluable to a reporter or a detective. Rose blinked her fair eyelashes at him, and I think his proposal that she instruct him in the art intrigued her. She was flustered and said that she would think about it.
She rose to leave us again, and we said good-bye to her, hopefully not for the last time.
I looked at Holmes when she had gone, and he murmured with fascination that he had not believed he could still be surprised by any form of deviance in existence. "Clearly, however, education never ends." He glanced at me then and remembered our lovemaking with a smile. "As I learned last night."
I kissed him and said he would learn more tonight.
Such passion in his arms last night. He is young and green, but a quick study. I took him in my mouth like I did years ago, and my method had improved a great deal, judging from his ecstatic response and his swift show of gratitude. The sight of him on his knees before me was incredible, transporting me back to what I had felt but not seen in the dark of the closet. It seemed that we were reliving our past again, though with more skill. I think I might say "I love you" to him someday and mean it sincerely.
Unfortunately, such a feeling of closeness was not to last. All today, Holmes has been aloof and rigidly composed, with hardly a glance or a smile for me. I fear he is veering again into silence and vacancy, and I have tried to rouse him out with conversation, but am succeeding less and less with each attempt. This morning he worked briefly on some abstruse chemical experiment, all the while lamenting the lack of any new mystery to solve. He seems quite bored of the world, and perhaps of me too.
So I asked him to a concert with me, and he humoured me in a content, but drowsy way. Afterward he was irritated that I had not the stamina to accompany him to the British Museum as well, and we parted.
While Holmes remained out, Gregson and Lestrade stopped by this afternoon and asked specifically to speak to me privately. Apparently Holmes had mentioned to them my intention to write an account of the Brixton Mystery, as an excuse for his asking for Hope's possessions, so they had generously brought me their own notebooks from the case.
I was quite surprised and delighted. "Why, thank you both! You don't mind," I coughed delicately, "if I reveal Holmes's part in the investigation?"
"Not at all!" Lestrade clapped my shoulder heartily. "We shall have plenty more cases in the meantime. By the way, did you happen to have a word with Holmes about us?"
"A word?"
"Yes," Gregson said. "Something about abbreviating his lectures?"
"Oh! Yes, I may have said something to that effect. Did Holmes mention that?"
"Yes!" Lestrade laughed and nearly wrung off my hand with gratitude. "I tell you, Doctor, when we saw him at the Yard yesterday, we were sure that he had come down to gloat some more about the Hope case, and to rake us over the coals for our faults again. But he did not. He was amazingly subdued."
"Amazingly," Gregson echoed with enthusiasm. He was practically beaming.
"We could hardly believe it. When we asked him why he did not greet us with his customary diatribe, he warned us that he would not stop his lectures altogether, since we must learn in future cases, but he would abbreviate them to a minimum, as had been suggested to him by a certain impartial witness."
Gregson chortled happily, and shook my hand as well. "Thank you, Doctor." So they left me, still chattering and laughing between themselves.
I spent the afternoon examining their notebooks and writing a little of my account of the mystery. Perhaps I can gain Holmes's interest in my project when he comes home.
Holmes returned late, with numerous mud splashes on his trousers that spoke of another long walk. He described to me his journey as we dined, but soon became bored and quiet. He yawned and lit his pipe, then devoted himself to his scrapbooks, which seem to consist of numerous clippings from newspapers, interspersed with his own notations. I tried to ask him about the books, for they had often attracted my curiosity, but he would not reply nor let me examine any of them. I felt rather snubbed and lonely.
But as soon as the night grew later and safer, Holmes showed interest in me again, reaching to kiss me. When I did not respond to him, he teased me with a smile. "Did I not warn you of my inconstancy, Doctor?" The only sure-fire cure for it, he said, would be another night with me, or did I not want to combat his ennui anymore?
We locked ourselves in his bedroom again.
He is not bored with our lovemaking, at least. His eyes came to life at last and he even growled with pleasure as we explored new variations and techniques. Sex with him is better every time. I am thoroughly enjoying his lean flexibility in my arms, and appreciating all his differences from Murray. For his part, Holmes still seems fascinated by my scarred body, and I wonder if I should ask him again about the scars upon his arm from his "medication," but he seems not to trust me that much yet. We shall see what happens when I delve deeper into his vulnerabilities.
Holmes suggested that one of these nights we reverse things and share my bed instead of his. As he enjoyed variety so much, I asked him what had become of his handcuffs and described delicious things we might do with them. Just the mere thought excited him a great deal, and he praised Murray for teaching me to be so naughty.
I could spend hour after hour, day after day, and week after week teaching Holmes to be naughty, if only we could go on without interruption. He is such a wicked, lovely creature.
Rose came by today. I was both surprised and pleased to see her dressed in feminine costume, with a pretty wig upon her head. If Mrs. Hudson noticed her resemblance to the rude Mr. Cooper of two days ago, she possibly assumed they were siblings, or even twins.
I shut the door and showed Rose to a seat, while Holmes finally turned around from his violin playing and gazed at her. He was disarmed, and realised that he could no longer address her in masculine terms.
"Good day, madam," he took a seat beside me. "What brings you back here so soon?"
She smiled mischievously. "It's a little experiment, I suppose. I was always afraid of dressing like this during daylight hours, thinking that I would not be convincing enough and would end up punished. But since I did risk being Rose for Jefferson's sake that day, and since you told me yourself that I had a talent for disguise, I decided to try it out and see if anyone would discover me. I went to my newspaper's offices today, prepared to tell them that I was disguised on an undercover investigation if I must, and bear their laughing at me, but they didn't know me." She giggled. "Why, one of the fellows said he did not know that Robert had a sister, and tried to flirt with me!"
"And how did you respond?"
She shrugged. "Oh I was shy and said he'd better talk to my brother when he got to feeling better. Then I dropped off my articles that were due to my boss and left. Jefferson is so special to me still, I cannot think of someone else."
"Of course," I patted her gloved hand.
"I am not sure just what I shall do, Doctor. Maybe I will even decide to stop being Robert at all. I should like to be Rose all the time, not just at night. Of course, I know I shall lose a lot of masculine freedom to go about wherever I wish, yet it seems so small a price to pay to have what I have always wanted."
"Always? It did not begin just with Hope?" Holmes asked.
"No," she shook her head and blushed. "I suppose I gave you the wrong impression with my story the other day. I did frequent the molly houses at night, but they never quite fulfilled me. I had some friends there, and men who would desire me, yet not be surprised when we were in bed, but I did not want to just play at being a girl. I have always felt like Rose, even when I was forced to act as Robert to make my living."
I was intrigued and asked her to tell us about it.
"Well," she explained, "since my childhood I have preferred to think of myself as my family's only daughter, instead of one of its sons. My family stringently discouraged my notion, however, and made me miserable in my own skin. They wanted me always to dress and behave like my brothers, and I resisted for years, but..." She paused and frowned. "I would suffer taunts and abuses from the boys at school, who seemed to prove my family right, that I must be able to defend myself from them."
"My dear Rose!" I pressed her hand again, remembering the brutality of my schooldays, where we would chase any delicate boy around with wickets. I regretted this behaviour, and wondered if the pain in Rose's eyes spoke of far worse torments than that.
She continued softly, "So I hid myself as Robert and remained as lonely as I was confused. Finally one day I decided to run away from home and live independently, where at least I might be free to dress up anyway I liked in private. So I got my job at the newspaper, and in the course of my work and my wanderings through town, I learned about the secret places where I might go at night and be accepted--at least, if there were no police attempting a raid." She shrugged. "Then my dear Jefferson found me, and now--now you see me."
"Hope did change your mind, then?" Holmes ventured, trying to comprehend her.
Rose nodded and said that, since Jefferson had shown her such love and acceptance, she would rather stay Rose all the time, than continue in her strained double life. She simply had to plan how she would make her living as a single woman instead of as a man.
I asked if we could be of assistance.
She replied that she intended to speak to some of her friends at the molly houses tonight and ask them if the stories were true, that some persons like her could pass as women for all their life and be happy. Their advice would help her formulate some plan.
Then Rose smiled and pressed back upon my hand. "I will let you know what happens, Doctor, and I thank you both so much for your support. Your not turning me in to the police shall not have been in vain, I assure you."
She kissed us both on the cheek as she rose to leave, which made Holmes a bit uncomfortable, but he said good day to her, and I wished her luck.
Holmes wiped the rouge off my cheek with his handkerchief, and I kissed it off of his.
I asked Holmes yet again about his scrapbooks and he finally answered that they were his index books, in which he compiled entries on crime, his cases, and various persons of importance. As an example, he took down the book marked "M" on the outside, opened it to a particular page, and then handed it to me.
I was startled to find an entry on myself! It read:
Morris, James, alias of unknown visitor to Camford university, March 1876. Sodomite afraid of exposure. Posed as a student, infiltrating a chemistry laboratory of the Medical School. Came with express purpose to seduce an undergraduate; successful. Medical type, may already have Bachelor's degree and be practicing. Appeared to be early to mid 20s. Soft brown hair. Moustached. Auburn eyes. Excellent kisser. 5'7". Medium, athletic build; rugby perhaps. Hands of a surgeon. Most talented. Violent temper when cornered. Spontaneous. Passionate. Possibly inexperienced, or only clumsy in dark, cramped closet. Was unable to check visually for birthmarks, but he seemed free of scars. Would know his scent again.
I expressed my shock and warned Holmes that he ought to destroy such evidence of our affair. He responded that I should rightly destroy all my journals, then. I was reluctant, so he assured me that it would be all right so long as we took care to keep our writings private from others' eyes. Anyway, this "Morris" entry, he said, only implicated himself as being seduced some five years ago, an offence that might be overlooked by policemen eager for his help as a detective.
"But, still--!" I protested.
Holmes told me to look up "Watson, John H." and handed me the "W" book now.
I obeyed and found that the entry under my actual name made no reference to the "Morris" episode, and spoke of me only as a doctor who had become his roommate and assistant upon his recent case. The entry also mentioned my planned writings with a little annoyance, but said grudgingly that it might be of use, as a practical demonstration of the theories he had published in his "Book of Life" article.
Holmes then remarked with a smile that the hour was growing late, so he returned both his books to his shelf and asked me which room I preferred tonight. I told him to bring his handcuffs and meet me in my room.